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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22927915">Candid Souls</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dechagny/pseuds/dechagny'>dechagny</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera (1989)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Era, Childhood Sweethearts, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, First Love, Fluff, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Time Skips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:42:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22927915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dechagny/pseuds/dechagny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny over the years from childhood sweethearts to awkward adults, they attempt to keep their love for each other strong whilst dealing with death, separation, angsty teen issues, and of course, the Phantom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Raoul de Chagny &amp; Christine Daaé</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The grass was limp with dew beneath Christine’s back, the damp seeping into her coat. She wrapped her delicate hands around the grass to feel the cool sensation on her too-warm palms – a consequence from pressing her hands in her pockets too deep for too long. She tapped the toes of her exhausted shoes together; they were just visible beneath the hem of her skirts. They made a disappointing thump in the dark and she sighed, watching her breath rise like smoke towards the stars, like the dying breath of a dragon in a story Papa had told her last week.</p><p>It was quiet and calm outside – a welcome reprieve. There was no clattering of plates, no crackle or spitting of a fire, no chattering about things Christine didn’t understand. Most importantly, there was no thud of Raoul’s new boots hitting the leg of his chair again and again. No Phillipe telling him off and slapping his wrist…though if she were pressed to admit it, she somewhat enjoyed seeing him be chastised. He had been rude to her, so he deserved it.<br/><br/>Christine hadn’t been hungry at supper, but now her belly gave a terrible rumble and her throat tingled with the absence of food. Stupidly, she had excused herself from the table by feigning a headache, saying she wanted to go for a walk to clear it. Her father had frowned.<br/><br/>“If you’re feeling unwell, shouldn’t you be going to bed, little bird?” he said, wiping gravy from his moustache with a cotton napkin. “I don’t think it’s wise to let you go wandering around on your own.”<br/><br/>“I only want to walk around the gardens,” Christine argued, slipping from her chair. She was only a foot or so taller than the grand dinner table itself. “I promise I won’t go far or leave the grounds of the house. I’ll be back in time for bed.”<br/><br/>Monsieur Daae smiled at his precocious daughter. A little part of him didn’t believe that she’d be back for bedtime, but he relented regardless. “Alright. Take your coat – you’re still a young girl and I don’t want you catching your death out there.”<br/><br/>“Yes, Papa,” Christine said, smiling from the corner of her mouth. She turned to their host and curtsied like she had been taught. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Comte. I’m sorry that I do not feel well enough to finish it.”<br/><br/>Philippe looked up from his plate, his golden brows burrowed together and his left hand clutching his glass of claret. “You’re very welcome, Miss Daae. I hope you feel well enough to join us again tomorrow.” His face didn’t give it away, but she was sure he didn’t mean it – he liked her father, not her – she was just Philippe’s little brother’s annoying friend.<br/><br/>“I would enjoy that very much, Monsieur,” Christine smiled, fully aware that Raoul’s sea-blue eyes were burning into the side of her head from across the table. “Good evening, gentleman.” She walked quickly away from the dinner table, grabbing her navy coat from the hook and letting herself out.<br/><br/>She travelled the length of the de Chagny garden twice, looking between the earth and its flowers, and the heavens and its emerging stars, before finding a comfortable-looking spot on the ground to lie down on, the grass cushioning her body from the damp soil.<br/><br/>A cloud floated in front of her eyeline – it was soft, surprisingly white and bright for an evening that was well underway. She lifted her arm, squinted at the sky, and pretended to catch it between her fingers. It slipped through her grasp, of course, and drifted over the house.<br/><br/>She sighed again and considered going back inside before it got too cold, but the grass kept her anchored to the ground whilst the stars kept her captivated. She almost didn’t notice the sound of quick footsteps approach her. Christine turned her gaze towards the intruder’s feet and their new boots.<br/><br/>Raoul tentatively sat beside her – he had come out without a coat and wore only his slightly-too-large dinner suit. “I thought you might be hungry. You barely touched your plate,” he said, handing her a warm, napkin-wrapped bundle. “It’s not much…but it was all I could get without Philippe noticing.”<br/><br/>Once she had pulled herself upright from the grass, she carefully unwrapped the package with deft yet eager hands. Sat neatly in the napkin was a hot roll of bread, crusty and slathered in salted butter, and a moist chunk of roasted goose. The delicious scent and the inviting look of glistening fat made these small leftovers the most delicious meal she had ever seen. She shovelled the food into her mouth in a most unladylike fashion, swallowing it down gratefully. She handed the napkin back to Raoul, thanked him, and laid back in the grass to see the stars, wiping grease from her chin with the back of her hand.<br/><br/>There were a few minutes of silence until the sound of Raoul’s jacket kissing the grass disturbed the air around them. “Why were you ignoring me at supper?” he asked, pushing the napkin into his trouser pocket.<br/><br/>Christine shrugged. “Because I’m mad at you.”<br/><br/>“Is that why you excused yourself to come out here?”<br/><br/>“It might be.”<br/><br/>Raoul pulled his eyes away from Christine and instead looked to the sky too, thinking it would be easier to talk if they weren’t looking at one another. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”<br/><br/>“You said that I remind you of Ophelia,” she said slowly and seriously as though it were the worst thing that could have been said, closing her eyes to the diamond sky. “You may as well have called me mad.”<br/><br/>The boy laced his fingers together nervously on his chest, using one thumb to pick at the skin around the other. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested, his thick lower lip set in a pout. “Have you ever read Hamlet?”<br/><br/>Christine was silent for a moment and shook her head. “Papa says I’m too young to read Shakespeare…that it’s unbecoming for a gentle lady.”<br/><br/>The corner of Raoul’s mouth twitched. “Then how do you know she goes mad?”<br/><br/>“Everyone knows that,” she frowned. “It’s the one thing everyone knows. Have you ever read it?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” he said, letting his smile bloom. “But Philippe doesn’t know that. He thinks I’m too young for it too, but I took his copy from the library and I’ve been reading it at night by candlelight when everyone’s asleep…Honestly, I don’t understand all of it and I sometimes re-read sections because I get too confused and I don’t know what it means…but I think you’d like it if you ever got the chance to read it…” he realised he was speaking too fast and cleared his throat. “I really didn’t mean it as a bad thing though, I promise.”<br/><br/>Christine turned her head toward him and opened one eye to look at him. “How do I remind you of Ophelia then?”</p><p>“Well…” Raoul began, his mind trying to quickly form sentences that won’t accidentally come out all wrong and make her angrier at him. “She’s good, and she’s sweet and she’s kind…she loves flowers, she dotes on her father, and there’s one bit where she sings. I don’t know if her singing voice is any good, but I imagined that she sang like you do…” he exhaled and forced himself to speak slower again. “I just hope you never experience such grief as Ophelia – that would be the true tragedy…someone as loving and brilliant as you, living in a world that’s cruel to you.”<br/><br/>Christine let his words warm her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She laughed quietly, opening both her eyes towards the heavens. “Sometimes you insult me whether you mean to or not…and sometimes you speak like a man rather than a boy.”<br/><br/>“That’s because I am a man,” he snapped, his childish pout returning in full force, “no matter what Phillipe says. I even had to shave my chin this morning!”<br/><br/>“Did you really?” Christine chuckled, stretching in the grass and stifling a yawn. “Did it hurt?”<br/><br/>“No,” he said proudly, “not even when I cut myself. Can you see the wound?”<br/><br/> Christine stared at him as he lifted his chin. She had to look closely at his perfect porcelain skin to find the mark – but there it was. Small, purple, and already half-healed. “I’d hardly call it a wound,” she laughed.<br/><br/>“It is a wound!” argued Raoul, smiling despite himself. He scratched at his top lip. “Do you think I’d suit a moustache like Philippe’s or your Papa’s when I’m older?”<br/><br/>“I don’t know. You’d probably be just as handsome with facial hair as you are without it,” she said, looking to the sky again in case he caught the blush creeping over her face. There were more stars now, she noticed. They twinkled out of tune, without a pattern, and she wondered what they would sound like if they were notes played on a piano, a cello, a violin. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” she asked before he could respond to her compliment.<br/><br/>Raoul took a moment to think about it, keeping his eyes on the cluster of stars to the right of his line of vision, the ones that reminded him of the speckles of freckles on the bridge of Christine’s nose. “Well, I’m going to be Comte one day.”<br/><br/>A small huff escaped Christine’s lips. “That’s what you’re going to be eventually, yes, but what do you want to be?”<br/><br/>As he thought again, Raoul plucked grass from the ground until there was a small bald patch on the earth. “I want to be in the Navy, travel the world, and experience everything life has to offer before I have to become Comte. What about you?”<br/><br/>“I want to play the violin like my Papa,” Christine answered.<br/><br/>“You do that already so it doesn’t count,” Raoul argued.<br/><br/>“But I don’t play as well as Papa,” she countered. “I want to be like him when I grow up.”<br/><br/>“You play better than girls twice your age and I should know,” Raoul told her earnestly. “Philippe and I went to see an orchestra play and the lady performing the violin solo didn’t have as much heart as you do.”<br/><br/>Christine beamed. “You’ve got a big heart, Raoul. Has anyone ever told you that?”<br/><br/>“I’m told constantly,” he answered with an air of good-natured impudence. He became serious as quickly as he had become mischievous. “But it means the most to me when it comes from you.”<br/><br/>They let a natural silence creep over their conversation, both staring at the stars as though they held the secrets of the universe. It was easier than looking at one another, both young, unsure, their shoulders just touching in the dark, each of them tantalisingly close to being too sincere about one another.<br/><br/>“When you become Comte,” Christine said finally, so quiet it was almost a whisper, “what’s going to happen…?” The words ‘to us’ were absent from the question, but they both heard it in the few seconds of silence that followed.<br/><br/>“I don’t know,” Raoul admitted. “Philippe seems so lonely sometimes…I hope it’s not the same for me…I would love it if the girl I cared about very much would be there to share the experience with me…” he stopped to chew his rosy bottom lip. “But I know that maybe, by the time I’m Comte, she would be a famous violinist and wouldn’t want to live a boring life with me.”<br/><br/>Christine nodded sagely. “Maybe she will…maybe she won’t. We’ll have to wait and see.”<br/><br/>There was a movement in the sky and they both caught their breaths. A star fell quickly, streaking the sky with brilliant white light. The other stars seem to part in the expanse to make way for their fallen brother. Though the star looked as hard and cold as an ice crystal, it was burning hotter than either of their cheeks, burning brighter than the twinkle in their eyes, and burning more beautiful than either one of them hoped to be once they had grown out of their awkward youth.<br/><br/>In the safety of the dark, they let their fingertips find each other, not taking their gaze away from the star that would be out of sight within the blink of an eye. Carefully, their pinkie fingers wound together in the grass, neither of them daring to move more than was necessary, to breathe louder than a sigh.<br/><br/>“Make a wish,” Raoul whispered, letting his eyes flutter closed. Christine followed, gently squeezing his finger to feel the warmth of his delicate skin firmly against hers.<br/><br/>It was in that moment, on a cold February evening, they wished together, unknowingly, for the same thing, on a magical and ethereal star that had already fallen away. That star was doing more than falling, of course, it was dying, it was ripping through the atmosphere, and it was nothing more than a little piece of rock, but they in their naivety didn’t know that.<br/><br/>But still, there was one thing the star was not doing. It was not falling as fast or as hard as Raoul or Christine had fallen for each other.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Warmth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little older and wiser beyond their years, Raoul and Christine discuss their future as the reality of Papa Daae's health decline becomes apparent.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christine’s cheek was warm against Raoul’s shoulder; her head lolled gently as the ornate carriage travelled across the bumpy road to the de Chagny estate. With every jolt on the journey, Christine clutched her father’s violin case closer to her body, even in her sleep she seemed to be afraid of losing or damaging it. Her long, caramel-blonde locks tickled Raoul’s hand, but he dared not try brushing it aside and risk breaking the sleepy bond between them.<br/><br/>There was still an hour of travelling to go and Raoul was weary himself, but he forced himself to stay awake. He didn’t want to fall asleep and have Christine wake only to see Philippe’s harsh gaze glowering back at her. The last few days had been harsh enough on her already – he’d seen her weep far too many times after a day of pretending everything was fine through faraway eyes.<br/><br/>Philippe was watching nothing in particular out of the carriage window, an unreadable expression on his face as he took off his hat and placed it on the empty seat beside him.<br/>               <br/>“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Raoul asked without looking at his brother. He already knew the answer and didn’t want to see the pity in Philippe’s face. Instead, he looked intensely at the delicate floral pattern of Christine’s emerald skirt.<br/><br/>“I’m afraid so,” Philippe said in a low tone.<br/><br/>“She’ll be an orphan,” Raoul said to the air. “How very unfair for a girl that’s so full of love and kindness.”<br/><br/>Philippe nodded and rubbed his chin. “An orphan, yes, but she won’t be alone.”<br/><br/>A small, sad smile crept over Raoul’s lips. “Yes, she’ll still have me,” he said, finally deciding to move so he could stroke her tangle of hair.<br/><br/>“No,” Philippe said resolutely, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he reached out to hold Raoul’s thin wrist, his head snapping towards him. “She will go to live with Madame Valerius. Permanently.”<br/><br/>Raoul could feel his heart sink in his chest, his mouth becoming devoid of all moisture. He suddenly felt like he was falling. “No,” he said, though he couldn’t be sure if he had said it out-loud or not. “You can’t do that, Philippe, you can’t send her away…I love her, and she loves me…She can come and live with us!”<br/><br/>“You are both young and foolish,” Philippe retorted, leaning on his cane. Raoul didn’t know why he had a cane, as far as he was aware, he didn’t need one. “Miss Daae needs a stable home and a mother. She needs to finish her education. It’s what her father wants.”<br/><br/>“That can’t be true,” Raoul muttered, his face pale, tears pricking in his eyes.<br/><br/>“I’m afraid that it is,” Philippe said, unfeeling and unmoved by his brother’s obvious sorrow. “Monsieur Daae and I have written to Madame Valerius and she has agreed to take her on as her own. It is all arranged, there's a room ready, and she's expecting her when the time comes.”<br/><br/>The only semblance warmth in the carriage came from Christine’s skin, still flushed from a rapturous performance. Raoul put a protective arm around her waist, pulling her close, afraid to let her go like she was afraid to let the violin case go. A life without her flashed before his young eyes, and despite his usually optimistic nature, he had a feeling his future would be bleak without her guiding light.<br/><br/>“Please, Philippe…” he begged, a hot tear splashing from his cheek to Christine’s shoulder.<br/><br/>“Don’t be so sentimental,” Philippe instructed. “You’ll find another young lady to give your affections to. Besides, there’s no need for all these theatrics as Monsieur Daae still lives for now.”<br/><br/>“For now…” Raoul repeated, his voice echoing around the carriage and rattling around his ears. “It’s not fair…” He blinked away more tears, his eyes already red, swollen, and itchy.<br/>               <br/>Philippe had to force himself not to roll his own eyes, telling himself to keep calm – shouting would only make things worse. “It wasn’t fair when Mother and Father died and left me in charge of you, but that’s the way life is,” he said firmly. “You’re being selfish. This way, she’ll get to keep playing her music, singing her songs, she’ll get have a good education and live a life with a family again.”<br/><br/>“I will be…<em>we</em> can be her family. She already has a family in us, she can keep playing and singing with us,” Raoul protested weakly. “I promised…I wished…<em>we</em> wished…”<br/><br/>“You will have your own obligations, Raoul, and we have enough on our plates without looking after and getting a teacher for the girl. What do you think will happen when you leave for the Navy? You’ll be leaving her alone when that happens, regardless of what happens now. This is how it is, and she has to go for her own good.”<br/><br/>Raoul fell silent. He hated it when Philippe was right, but he hated admitting that he might be wrong more. The rest of the carriage journey passed in an unrelenting silence. Christine, all the while, slept soundly with her hand on the violin case and her eyelashes caressing the apples of her cheeks, none the wiser of the cold world still raging on outside her own fervent dreams.<br/><br/>He must have fallen asleep himself because before he knew it, Philippe was poking Raoul awake with his cane, the carriage door wide open with moonlight streaming in where the sun had once been. Raoul rubbed his eyes and looked at Christine, sleeping like the dead. He pulled himself away from her calming embrace and stepped out of the carriage, gently lifting her out and allowing Philippe to take the violin case from her claw-like clutch.<br/><br/>“Let her sleep in the Drawing Room until she’s awake enough to go to bed,” Philippe said. “I will make sure the violin is kept safe,” he added before his brother could ask.<br/><br/>Raoul refused to look at Philippe once again, nodding at him with downcast eyes whilst walking straight to the house with Christine nestled in his arms. Her lips and cheeks were as pink as the roses in their garden, and her hair had started frizz from the effort of a long day.<br/><br/>The fire in the Drawing Room had already been lit by the dutiful housekeeper; the one who always slipped Raoul and Christine a hard toffee each when she saw them as she made her rounds of a morning. A gentle crackle came from the fireplace and the warmth of the room engulfed him, making him light-headed as he gently laid Christine on the sofa. She wasn’t heavy, but he wasn’t the strongest of boys and his arms were glad of the rest that followed.<br/><br/>“Raoul?” Christine murmured, her almond eyes flickering open as he draped a thick, woollen blanket over her tired frame.<br/><br/>“I’m sorry…did I wake you?” he asked, kneeling beside the sofa and putting a hand on hers. The backs of her hands were soft and delicate, but her fingertips were calloused and hard. They were beautiful hands regardless, for they were her hands; they were hands that played music so beautiful he had wept on more than one occasion.<br/><br/>“No, I’ve been awake for almost the whole journey,” she admitted with a sheepish and melancholy smile.<br/><br/>He smiled for a fraction of a second then lowered his head. “You heard what we said in the carriage,” he said slowly, that horrible falling feeling coming back to him.<br/><br/>“Almost everything,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.<br/><br/>Raoul pressed his forehead against the soft sofa cushion, not wanting her to see him begin to softly cry. After a few seconds, he almost laughs, realising how selfish he was being. It was Christine’s father who lay dying, and it was Christine who was being sent away, and yet, he was the one who was crying and complaining to Philippe that life wasn’t fair whilst she sat there with a comforting grip on his hand.<br/><br/>“He’s going to make you go away,” he muttered. “I love you and he’s going to make you go away because he doesn’t approve of you. He doesn’t say it, but I know that’s what it is.”<br/><br/>Fine fingers combed their way through Raoul’s hair. “I know,” Christine said tenderly. “But it will be okay. Madame Valerius is a good woman and I know she’ll look after me. There’s nothing we can do, Raoul, except pray that Papa pulls through.”<br/><br/>Raoul shook his head. He knew it was an unlikely scenario – Monsieur Daae was so very weak and barely more than a shadow of the man he used to be. When Raoul lifted his head from the sofa, his cheeks were blotchy. He wiped his nose on his sleeve with a sniff. “We could run away together. We could get on the next boat and begin again together somewhere, or just keep travelling until we reach the end of the Earth.”<br/><br/>Despite everything, Christine loved his optimism and his want to do something, anything about the hand they had been dealt. She loved his want to travel and she loved that he wanted her to come with him even more. She loved that he was so sure of what he wanted to do. “Where would we go? We are still but children…how would we get away with it?”<br/><br/>“I don’t know,” Raoul laughed bitterly. “But we could try.”<br/><br/>“It wouldn’t be right, Raoul. Your brother will worry, Madame Valerius will be devastated, it wouldn’t be fair on Papa. It’s not practical or possible and you know that.”<br/><br/>The fire spat a burning ember into the grate and quickly fizzled out, sending a fine mist of smoke up the old brick flue.<br/><br/>“I love you, Christine,” Raoul said earnestly. “I don’t want you to go.”<br/><br/>“I don’t want to go either,” she admitted, gripping Raoul’s hand so tightly she thought she must be hurting him, but if she was, he didn’t say anything. “Philippe’s right. It’s for the best…if you love me like I know you do, you’ll let me go.”<br/><br/>The agreement came in silence as Raoul nodded firmly and used his free hand to wipe away the tears and snot from his nose. “I’m going to be in the Navy by the time we’re old enough to marry…you could be anywhere...<em>I</em> could be anywhere.”<br/><br/>“I know,” Christine said quietly again, feeling her own tears finally threatening to spill. How strange it was to know that this was the private goodbye before the inevitable and more permanent goodbye, that the next few years would be absent of their walks along the garden, their whispered stories, and their holding of hands and pecks on the cheek when they thought no-one could see them.<br/><br/>Raoul took a deep breath and put on a brave, stoic face, one that could fool Philippe but not Christine, though she pretended otherwise. “We’ll find each other again,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “I’ll find you wherever you end up. I’ll come home to you again one day. You’ll come home to me.”<br/><br/>Christine tucked a strand of Raoul’s wavy, straw-coloured hair behind his ear, letting her fingers brush against his forehead and then his cheek. “I know,” she repeated with a tired smile. “You know, you’re a romantic old soul for a boy of fourteen.”<br/><br/>“And you’re so steadfast and strong for a girl of thirteen.”<br/><br/>“Thirteen, eleven months, and sixteen days, actually,” she said, grinning to keep the tears away. She smiled wider when Raoul laughed.<br/><br/>“I should leave you to sleep,” he said, tugging his hand from Christine’s. “You’ve had a busy day and your father will want to see you well-rested in the morning.” He stood and dusted nothing from the knees of his trousers, just for an excuse to stay there a second longer.<br/><br/>Christine followed Raoul to the door with her eyes once he was sure his clean trousers were absent of dust. “Thank you, Monsieur,” she said. It didn’t sound right in her mouth and her tongue felt heavy with lead.<br/><br/>The phrase sounded odd to Raoul’s ears and he stopped in the doorway to look for Philippe before he realised that he was monsieur now. “You’re very welcome, Miss Daae…” he said sluggishly, and made to leave, but he stopped again before he managed to get even one foot out of the door. “Oh…I almost forgot to mention…you played beautifully at your performance today, and your father would have been proud to see you if he had been well enough to come with us. Your playing and your voice bewitched me, and I shall miss hearing you.” He dropped his gaze and strode out of the door, his heart beating fiercely, his cheeks ruddy and hot. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sob freely.<br/><br/>“Don’t go,” Christine cried, sitting up on the sofa with a hand stretched towards the door. “Don’t go yet, we still have time! Will you at least sit with me until I fall back asleep?”<br/><br/>Raoul smiled gently as her voice floated across the corridor. Naturally, he returned to her side gladly, shedding himself of his snot-laced jacket. He sat on the too-cushy sofa beside her, smiling as she pulled half of the blanket over his lap. Christine rested her jaded head on his shoulder once again, feeling butterflies in her stomach as he slipped his arm around her waist, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.<br/><br/>“Promise that you’ll write to me,” Christine asked faintly, breathing in the comforting, boyish scent of Raoul’s skin.<br/><br/>“I promise,” he answered, holding her hand again, wondering if this would be the last time he could do so. “I’ll write to you every day until my hands turn to dust.”<br/><br/>Silently, they watched the fire in front of them make one final trembling glow then peacefully die out, taking much of the warmth from the air with it. The only warmth left in the room came from their two hearts and the blanket between them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Our teenage lovers are briefly united after two years apart following the death of Papa Daae. Unfortunately, they're saying goodbye again as Raoul ships out in the Navy for the first time.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christine was glad that Madame Valerius had forced her to take her new muff because, as she walked along the cobbled street, weighed down by her only coat that didn’t have a hole in it, she’s almost certain her fingers would have succumbed to frostbite. The wind continued to bite at her cheeks as she pushed herself through the crowd, scanning unfamiliar faces for the one she hoped she would still recognise.<br/><br/>She wasn’t expecting the dock to be quite so busy. It was mostly mothers, wives, and daughters bawling into handkerchiefs or children into their mother’s skirts, peppered with proud fathers and none-the-wiser baby sons who just wanted to see the big boat. Young men in uniform kissed their mothers and shook the hands of their fathers, stoic and calm amongst the chaos around them.<br/><br/>Even the sea was level and relaxed along the shore, only splashing against the rocks and the bow of the ship when the gust of wind was strong enough. The sky was azure and soft with lazy clouds, the sun’s rays shining through the gaps and glistening on the water. Christine didn’t know a lot about boats, but she knew that there couldn’t have been a more perfect day for sailing.<br/><br/>His letter said he would be waiting by the gangplank of the ship, but the space around it was so crowded she was afraid she wouldn’t find him. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see over the gaggle of faces for the one she’s missed these past two years. Disappointingly, she found she couldn’t even identify him by his golden head of hair as the men were all wearing blue Naval caps that made them indistinguishable from one another.<br/><br/>“Raoul?” she called into the wind. “I’m here…” It was like a scene from a novel. The words died in her throat as the people around her filtered away, leaving their loved ones behind, and suddenly, he was all she could see. His hands were staunch behind his back, his gaze forward, his jaw and shoulders shapelier than they had been the last time she had seen him. Beside him, as always, was Philippe, cosy in his fur-lined coat and leaning on his cane. His moustache couldn’t quite hide the frown that appeared as their eyes met.                </p>
<p>Christine approached them with quick steps, the heel of her shoe catching in the cobbles only once. Raoul was smiling at her and she back at him. She remembered to greet Philippe first with a curtsey, though she couldn’t take her eyes away from Raoul.<br/><br/>“It’s nice to see you again, Comte,” she said earnestly. “I hope you’re well.”<br/><br/>“As well as can be, Miss Daae,” he answered with an air of boredom.<br/><br/>Raoul cleared his throat and took a step forward, reaching for a hand that was still hidden in her muff. “Miss Daae…you came.”<br/><br/>“Of course I came, Monsieur,” she laughed, slipping her hand from its warm pouch and letting Raoul take it. His hands were much larger now, but they still made her feel as safe as when they were younger. “I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”<br/><br/>Raoul kissed the back of her hand. “You have grown into a beautiful young woman, Miss Daae. Tell me, how is life with Madame Valerius? Has she travelled with you?”<br/><br/>“Unfortunately not, she is unwell and unable to travel such a distance,” she told him, glad he hasn’t let her hand go just yet. “She treats me well and I’m as happy as I can be without Papa, and you, of course. I’ve missed you.”<br/><br/>“And I, you,” Raoul said, his eyes scanning her delicate face and the new curves of her body. “I’m glad you’re happy. You are more beautiful than I imagined you would be.”<br/><br/>Christine was quick to blush. “You’re too kind, Monsieur.”<br/><br/>“Please, call me Raoul – we are not strangers,” he pleaded, squeezing her warm hand.<br/><br/>“Then you must call me Christine,” she countered. “Oh, Raoul, I can’t believe you’re finally shipping out. I’m so pleased for you.”<br/><br/>Raoul grinned to show his perfect teeth and the deep dimples in cheeks. Suddenly he looked more like the boy she remembered. “Thank you, Christine. I’ve never been more ready for this day. Would you accompany me on a walk before I embark?”<br/><br/>“Ten minutes,” Philippe said before Christine could answer.<br/><br/>Raoul took Christine’s arm with a curt nod to his brother and walked her a few paces out of his earshot. “I’m sorry about him.”<br/><br/>“He hasn’t changed a bit,” she said fondly. “He still loves you and worries about you.”<br/><br/>“Perhaps too much,” he agreed. “I’m glad I get to stand on my own two feet for a while.”<br/><br/>The crowd thins to almost nothing as they walk away from the ship, but as Christine looked over her shoulder, the ship still seems dauntingly large and Raoul so small despite his growing frame. She took a deep breath through her nose and leaned against him as they walked. “You’re very handsome in your uniform. It suits you.”<br/><br/>“Thank you. Philippe says it makes me look like the man I’m supposed to be.”<br/><br/>Christine laughed in a way she hadn’t done since her father died. “The Comte certainly knows how to best compliment and insult a person in the same breath, doesn’t he?”<br/><br/>“It’s his bread and butter,” Raoul agreed. He slowed his pace almost to a stop, a cloud of emotion passing over his graceful features. “Christine, I asked you to come here today because there’s something I wished to discuss with you, and I didn’t want to do it in a letter.”<br/><br/>The sudden slowing of pace and Raoul’s change in mood made Christine trip on a cobble, but Raoul caught her before it caused too much embarrassment. “Perhaps you’d like to sit down,” he said, leading her to a wall on which she could perch. “Is your ankle okay? I hope you didn’t injure yourself on my account.<br/><br/>“It’s fine,” Christine told him distractedly. “What did you want to talk to me about?” She began drawing small circles with her foot to stretch away the pain in her ankle.<br/><br/>Raoul nodded and paced; his hands knotted together in front of him. “Well…you see…” he started, swallowing his nerves. “We’ve been apart for over two years now, Christine…and in that time…you’ve grown into a beautiful and enchanting young woman, and, forgive me for being so forward, but, I was wondering…if you had a…new gentleman friend whom you wish to give your affections to?” He can barely look at her as he spoke, the childhood habit of his mouth speaking ahead of his brain coming back in full force.<br/><br/>She didn’t mean to, but Christine laughed and covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to stifle it. She laughed harder when his head snapped up to look at her with genuine worry and panic.<br/><br/>“Oh, Raoul,” she cried, lowering her hand. “You are the most ridiculous man I have ever met!”<br/><br/>Raoul was crestfallen and took her hand in desperation. “Please, Christine, don’t taunt me. We do not have long.”<br/><br/>“My affections have been with you since the day we met,” she told him, her laughter dying and being reborn as sincerity. “My foolish heart was taken with you from the moment you came running to me on the beach, soaked to the knees with my scarf in hand. Even if I had the time to meet other gentlemen, my heart would never have wandered away from you. Every time one of your letters came, my heart beat as if you were there with me. I adore you and I love you.”<br/><br/>The cold doesn’t seem to be as bad now, or if it is, Raoul can’t feel it. He kissed her knuckles fervently and clutched her hand in both of his. “Christine, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say those words, nor how much harder those words make it for me to leave.”<br/><br/>“You shan’t be away forever,” she reminded him.<br/><br/>“Very true…” he said. He let go of her hand and fumbled around in his pocket. “I have something for you.”<br/><br/>“Raoul, you didn’t have to get me anything…”<br/><br/>There was a small, velvet box in his trembling hand and a nervous smile on his face. “I won’t be able to write to you as often as I do, and I don’t know when I’ll get to come home…” he opened the box and picked out something gold before Christine could even take a glimpse inside. “But I love you, and now I know for sure that you love me…” he held up a burnished chain that held a ring – a simple thing with three clear gems set in antique gold.<br/><br/>Christine’s breath was in her throat and a tear rolled down her left cheek. “Raoul…it’s beautiful…but why?”<br/><br/>“It was my mother’s,” he explained. “Philippe was furious when he found out I wanted to give it to you, but I don’t care. I love you and I want to spend my life with you when I come home.”<br/><br/>“Are you asking for my hand?” Christine asked, quite unable to believe it.<br/><br/>“Yes. No,” he said firmly, smiling sheepishly as she recoiled from his assertion. “No, I’m not asking…but I also am, in a way. Christine, I don’t know how long I will be gone, I don’t know how many letters I will be able to write to you, but…I would be honoured if you would wait for me to come home. Then, when we meet again, and if you will still have me, I will ask you for your hand, officially.” He laughed at himself. “It’s a proposal of a future proposal, I suppose.”<br/><br/>Christine beamed again, her cheeks flushed and heart fluttering wildly. “I accept your proposal of a proposal.”<br/><br/>Raoul can barely contain his smile as he mishandled the clasp of the chain, helping her to put it on. It fell around her neck gracefully, but a few strands of her hair become caught in the clasp as Raoul’s trembling fingers clipped it closed. “I hope that you’ll think of me whenever you wear it.”<br/><br/>“I’ll think of you always,” she told him, looking down at the ring, cold and gorgeous beneath her collarbone.<br/><br/>“Christine, I also want you to know that…if anything were to happen to me and I never make it home…” he swallowed a lump in his throat, “I’ve made Philippe promise to send you a letter, so you won’t have to wait for me any more.”<br/><br/>A blast of the boat’s horn signalled that time was running short and Christine caressed his cheek. “Raoul, you’re sweet to make arrangements, but I have every faith in God, and in you, that you’ll come home.” She rose from the wall and offered her arm, seeing a horde of uniformed men – no, boys - walking towards the gangplank.<br/><br/>“Wait,” Raoul said hurriedly. “One last thing.”<br/><br/>“What? Philippe will kill you if you’re late.”<br/><br/>Raoul laughed. “He can wait. This is more important.” He quickly lunged forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Christine’s unsuspecting lips. His stomach seemed to melt beneath his flesh, his chest tightening and freezing him in that perfect moment as Christine threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing back after a split second. Everything about him felt electric. He reluctantly pulled away as the ship’s horn blared a second time.<br/><br/>The two of them, hand in hand, ran towards the boat, neither of them worried about their shoes on the cobbles, the reddening of their faces, or what the future held. Philippe scorned his little brother but hugged him goodbye before Raoul was ushered on to the ship by men neither Christine or Philippe had met.<br/><br/>Christine’s heart sank as he disappeared from view, and she pressed her hand to the ring to feel close to Raoul again. The gangplank was removed, and the ship became busy as the dock became empty. Still, she stayed with Philippe and waited.<br/><br/>Young men lined the stern of the ship, waving to their loved ones on land. Soon, gladly, Raoul was among them, waving to Christine and Philippe in turn.<br/><br/>“I love you!” he shouted, his hands cupped around his mouth.<br/><br/>Christine laughed, the wind whipping her hair across her face. “I love you too!” Her shouts made Philippe wince and frown.<br/><br/>The ship gave a final blast of its horn and began to pull away from the dock, tearing the sea in two as it went, causing waves to crack against rocks on the shore. Raoul kept waving and Christine didn’t take her eyes off him, waving too until her arm ached, the people around her walked away, and the boat eventually fell over the horizon and out of sight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Crossing Over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Raoul and Christine write to each other as Raoul spends time at sea and Christine continues her education. As they write, Raoul discovers something about himself whilst Christine finds herself falling into depression.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>November 187-</strong>
</p>
<p>My Dearest Christine,</p>
<p>I hope this letter finds you well and happy. We’ve been at sea once again for two weeks, having docked in the continent of Africa – I have never seen such beautiful shores or met so many interesting people. You would have loved listening to their stories as much as I did. Maybe I can tell you a few when I get back?</p>
<p>There’s little for me to tell you at the moment – in our downtime we play cards, we talk, we play all sorts of games. It’s a good break from work. The men in my berth are pleasant fellows and we have fun, though, Olivier loves to tease me for my lovesick complaints about you.  </p>
<p>“You’re under her spell,” he said to me, grinning from ear to ear. His dark hair curled delicately around his temples and ears. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”</p>
<p>I think he’s just jealous that he doesn’t have a girl waiting for him back home. He reminds me of you sometimes – he’s got that same fire in his belly as you, the same heart-shaped face but with a squarer chin, and eyes that are as bright and brilliant as yours – but I digress.</p>
<p>How are your lessons going? Are you still playing the violin? How is Madame Valerius? I cannot wait to receive your letter; even your handwriting and knowing that you’ve touched the paper keeps my heart alive and anchored to you. There’s an address on the other side of this page – please send your correspondence here and I shall read it when we reach the next port.</p>
<p>I miss you.</p>
<p>Your ever-loving Raoul.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>December 187-</strong>
</p>
<p>To my sweet Raoul,</p>
<p>Thank you for your last letter – I’m glad you’re keeping well and life at sea isn’t treating you too harshly. I’m okay, but the winter is becoming harsh and unforgiving. My fingers ache with cold and it makes it difficult to play the violin.</p>
<p>Madame Valerius is concerned that my singing cannot be helped further as I have not improved in months and I’m struggling with the melodies. Even so, she still believes that I have a great future ahead of me. On that note, she’s doing well, too, and says she thinks of you often. As do I.</p>
<p>It’s nice to hear that you have made friends on your travels – I don’t want to think of you as being lonely out there. I hope you’re playing cards sensibly as the wrath of Philippe would be worse than the debt itself!</p>
<p>There was a shooting star last night and it made me think of you. Do you remember that night when we were children, lying in your garden and staring up and the sky? You told me why I reminded you of Ophelia. Madame V let me read Hamlet because I told her about that night and how I thought the book might bring me comfort. Upon reading, it only reminded me of my father and the way you told me that you hoped I would never experience such grief. But I have.</p>
<p>Madame Valerius eases the grief but it’s nothing like the comfort my father gave me when my mother died. It’s nothing compared to the comfort you gave me when my father died. Now you are both gone, and the grief can sometimes be overbearing. I gladly count the days you’ve been away, for every day of absence brings you a day closer to me again.</p>
<p>Watching the star streak across the sky made me feel, just for a second, that you were beside me and we were laying in the grass like nothing was wrong. Like nothing in life would ever be bad.</p>
<p>I miss you too.</p>
<p>Your Christine.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>January 187-</strong>
</p>
<p>My Dearest Christine,</p>
<p>Though I was pleased to receive your letter, I was troubled to hear you sound so melancholy! Be cheerful, my love, as much as you can. Madame Valerius dotes on you, your Father looks down at you from Heaven with pride and joy, and I love you more than you know. I know that life is not, and cannot, be perfect all the time, but you have many reasons to be glad so don’t spend too long shedding tears.</p>
<p>It’s strange to see you claim that your singing has not improved as that is not the image of the girl I remember. The girl who would strive to improve and impress in anything she put her mind to. Perhaps you’ve already reached the pinnacle of your art? Have you thought of that, especially if Madame V sees such a bright future in front of you?</p>
<p>On a happier note, did you have a wonderful Christmas? We managed a small celebration on land before heading back to the berth for the evening, a few bottles of spiced rum, port, and a bottle of brandy tucked under our arms. It was liberating to feel the warmth of the drink on my body and the gentle fog on my brain. We sat around our small table, sharing drinks, sharing stories from our time at home and telling each other the Christmas traditions we had before our lives at sea. We all smiled and laughed that night and it was the closest I have felt to home in months. We even sang! Can you imagine it, me, singing?!</p>
<p>Olivier draped his slender arm over my shoulder as we sang, both of us swaying to the out of tune carols. He teased me again as I began to talk about you, how we met, and how we promised to keep finding each other.<br/><br/>“What’s it like to be in love?” he asked me when I had finished my story, a genuine curiosity dancing in his eyes. He never spoke of a girl waiting for him like the rest of us, instead, he listened peacefully to our stories and laughed when we laughed, a quiet disinterest flashing across his porcelain face.<br/><br/>One of the guys celebrating Christmas with us had gone to play games in the berth next to ours by this time, and the other was asleep in his bed after one too many glasses of rum.<br/> <br/>I thought about Olivier’s question for a moment, tapping my fingers against the tumbler of brandy and smiling. “It feels like you’ll always be happy no matter what. You realise that you are never going to be your priority again, and that everything will be alright if that person feels you in their heart as much as you feel them in yours. It feels like you’re missing a part of yourself when you’re apart, and you’ll try and move Heaven and Earth for that person.”</p>
<p>And I would, Christine. I’d bring you those falling stars if you asked me to.</p>
<p>“I can’t imagine feeling that way about anyone,” Olivier told me with a laugh. “I’m glad you have your Christine, though. I’m sure it makes being here less lonely, knowing that she’ll be there for you wherever you end up.”</p>
<p>“It does,” I admitted to him, downing the rest of my brandy. “But you’ll feel that way about someone one day.”</p>
<p>Olivier poured himself out a second glass of port, smiling from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah…I hope you’re right.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure I am,” I told him with a shrug of my shoulder. “You’re a handsome fellow and I’m surprised that girls aren’t fawning over you already.” Which is true – he’s a delightful looking young man with high cheekbones and a delicate sloping nose. He’s fun to talk to and often makes up fabulous stories, especially dark and terrifying stories that leave me lying awake at night with my mind running over and over. I like him very much.</p>
<p>Anyway, he changed the subject after that, and we ended up going to the dining hall to play another game of cards. Don’t worry, Christine, there’s nothing for you or Philippe to worry about – we’re just having a little bit of fun.</p>
<p>I miss you and I wish you were here with me. I can’t wait for the day I finally get to come home. Write to me when you can – the next address is at the bottom of this page.</p>
<p>All my heart, Raoul.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>March 187-</strong>
</p>
<p>Darling Raoul,</p>
<p>I hope this letter reaches you – I’ve not had the time to write to you until now as life is changing for me once again. I’ve been auditioning for various theatres and opera houses.</p>
<p>I’m glad to hear that you had a lovely Christmas and that you’ve found a friend in Olivier – he does seem like a nice person and I’m glad you’re there to comfort him. You’re a very kind and heartfelt man.</p>
<p>Christmas for us was a calm and quiet affair – simple food, a night also filled with music, and we spent the morning at church where I prayed silently for you, Madame, and Papa. It was almost perfect.</p>
<p>My mind has been turbulent as of late and I can’t explain why. Everything feels dark, cold, and insignificant. I try to do the things that make me happy and yet I can’t seem to make myself concentrate for more than a moment. I read your letter, clutching the ring you gave me in my hand and feeling my heart beat faster than it has done in months, perhaps even years…but still…</p>
<p>Oh, Raoul, please don’t hate me…perhaps, what I’m about to explain to you is what has kept me so sad, perhaps it’s this and something more. It’s been so long since we’ve spent any real time together that wasn’t a fleeting moment on a dock or through words on a page, and my heart is hardening despite your attempts to keep it gentle. It has been four years since Papa died and I went away. Four years with only one meeting between us and countless letters. I’ve grown used to your absence and have made a new normal for myself, and yet there’s something I miss.</p>
<p>Do I miss you or do I miss our childhood? Do I want you to come home for me or do I just want a friend? Do I love you or do I love the idea of what you can provide? Do I only love the childish memory of us?</p>
<p>Sweet, sweet, Raoul, I’m sorry to say such things but…I am so confused! I wish I could be as sure as you. Maybe, when I see you again, everything will fall back into place and all this confusion and heartache will be worth it.</p>
<p>Do you feel the same as I do? Do you say the words you think I want to hear because you’re scared to say how you actually feel?</p>
<p>I hope the Navy is treating you well, because, no matter how I might feel for you now, I still do care about you deeply.</p>
<p>Christine.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>April 187-</strong>
</p>
<p>My love, Christine,</p>
<p>I think I must have missed your letter or mine was late arriving to you, as I didn’t receive a reply when we docked. Still, these things happen.</p>
<p>Are you well? I hope the emerging spring has been kind to you and you get to feel the warming sun on your sweet, freckled face, the warmth makes your hair glow that beautiful honey colour, and that you get to see the flowers often.</p>
<p>I have so much to tell you. Some of it may surprise you, but I love you and I want to share everything with you.</p>
<p>Winter here was harsh too, and the sea has been particularly turbulent. We were caught up in a frightful storm with freezing seawater splashing over the deck, swamping us. Some of us ran below deck, others stayed to help steer the ship out of danger where possible. As I stood there, the ship undulating under the waves and the spray wetting my back, I looked at the sky and its dark clouds, at the forked lightning as it cracked against the ocean, and realised just how far away from you I truly was.</p>
<p>Thankfully, the storm didn’t last long, and we were soon back near calmer seas and skies. I helped to replace the backstays until my hands were raw and blistered, slicked with rust and grease. Truly, I have never been more thankful for the little warmth there is below deck.</p>
<p>Olivier threw a towel over my head and sat on the edge of his bed, his hair and shoulders still lightly damp despite drying himself off and changing his clothes. I noticed that he had scrambled below deck shortly after the storm began.</p>
<p>“You didn’t fancy staying up there?” I asked as I rubbed the towel over my soaked hair with sore hands, wincing all the while. I heard a creak as Olivier stood back up, taking the towel from me and drying my hair himself.</p>
<p>“I don’t like lightning,” he said by way of an excuse. “It’s always struck fear into me.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t think you would be afraid of anything,” I told him, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “You’re always so jovial about everything and you come up with such brilliant ghost stories.”</p>
<p>Olivier tilted my head forwards so he could better dry the nape of my neck. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”</p>
<p>I didn’t realise quite how scared of lightning Olivier was until I woke up that night, bleary-eyed, to the sound of him gasping for breath in the bed next to mine, his shapely shoulders shuddering under the rustling covers. As far as I could tell, we two were the only ones awake.</p>
<p>Quietly, I threw back the covers and let my naked feet touch the cold floor, and tip-toed the three steps to his bed. I tentatively sat on the edge and touched his shoulder. He jumped but didn’t move any more than that.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” I whispered.</p>
<p>“Bad dream,” he choked out. “Go back to bed.”</p>
<p>“Not until I know you’ll be alright,” I told him, squeezing his shoulder. Below his shirt, I could feel that his skin was damp with sweat, and when he turned to face me, his forehead and cheeks were wet too. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>He wiped a shaking hand over his forehead. “Nothing, the lightning earlier has just affected me more than I thought.”</p>
<p>I have never seen him look so vulnerable – it almost scared me. He was someone who had been so brave on so many occasions, who asked me about you with good humour, who teased me with raucous laughter and who embraced so much of himself. So, I did the first thing that came to my mind and gently laid beside him.</p>
<p>Olivier raised his eyebrows at me, his chest rising and falling a little slower. “You don’t have to do that.”</p>
<p>“I know I don’t have to,” I told him with a smile. “But we’re a unit and part of a team, and it’s no man left behind. I'll stay with you until you feel better.”</p>
<p>He thanked me and we lay there in silence for a few moments until he felt brave enough to tell me why he was so afraid of the lightning storm. As a good friend and teammate, I shan’t share it with you as not to betray his trust. Though you are the love of my life and I want to share everything with you, I refuse to tell another man’s personal stories.</p>
<p>After he had finished his story, I hugged him and he pressed his face against my collarbone until he fell asleep, tranquil and himself again. It took a while for me to drift off, as I kept thinking about him. Part of me was afraid that I would wake him with the ferocious beating of my own heart.</p>
<p>This brings me to what happened the next morning. I woke early to creep back to my own bed, gently moving Olivier’s long limbs so I could get up, but his strong hand gently grabbed my wrist.</p>
<p>“Thank you for last night,” he murmured to me. “It meant a lot that you would be so warm and kind.” He paused and laughed, at what, I don’t know. “Your Christine is a lucky lady.”</p>
<p>“I’m the lucky one,” I told him. I needed to go back to bed, but I suddenly didn’t feel like moving. Olivier’s index finger traced the veins in my wrist with a feather touch.</p>
<p>He sighed wistfully and chewed his bottom lip, eyes cast down at our hands. “Months ago, you said you were sure I’d find someone I loved as much as you love her.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” I breathed.</p>
<p>“I think you might be right.” His eyes flickered up to me, and before I was even aware it was happening, he pressed his lips to mine. It was brief, soft, and my stomach seemed to be doing somersaults.</p>
<p>He pulled back; his hazelnut eyes cast downward again at the scratchy tangle of bedsheets. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that…You won’t tell the others, will you?”</p>
<p>I gave him my word that I wouldn’t and went back to bed like nothing happened…which felt wrong because it <em>had</em> happened. It had happened and, surprisingly, it was not an unpleasant or unwelcome turn of events. In fact, if I’m honest, I wanted to kiss him again.</p>
<p>My head is so confused – I love you, always have and always will. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Yet, Olivier has brought out something in me that I didn’t know was there. I feel like a kid again...like when I first met you. I know this all must sound ridiculous, Christine, because it sounds ridiculous to me.</p>
<p>Believe me when I say that I do still love you and want to marry you. I have a lot to think about and I hope that this doesn’t affect the love you have for me. I have no reason to believe that you would tell anyone, but please keep this information to yourself.</p>
<p>As usual, the address is below. Write to me soon.</p>
<p>Yours forever, Raoul.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>May 187-</strong>
</p>
<p>Dear Raoul,</p>
<p>My last letter did not reach you as I had responded too late and it missed you. But your confession regarding Olivier makes this letter easier to write.</p>
<p>I am struggling, Raoul. My mind is as tumultuous and stormy as the seas you have described, and I feel like I’m drowning. I wait for you, I wait for your letters, I think of my father, I tend to Madame Valerius. I play my violin and I sing. I am not happy, Raoul, everything feels so unnecessary and wretched. I think I need a different kind of life for a while.</p>
<p>We have been absent from each other’s lives for so long and it seems we both have our troubles. Perhaps it is for the best that we discover who we are without each other? We’ve spent so much time centring our lives around each other that this long absence has shifted our worlds greatly. I want to experience life without the waiting – especially if I don’t know if I love you as I once did. I have a new job that I want to throw my whole heart and soul into, and I can’t do that if parts of them are still with you. I need time and space to think.</p>
<p>You need to think about me and Olivier too. Your secret is safe with me, Raoul, whatever happens.</p>
<p>I will send your mother’s ring to your brother with a note explaining that I have fallen out of love with you. It’s a half-truth and I think he’ll accept it. Either way, he’ll be happy to have the ring back.</p>
<p>If you decide, when you get home, that you want to find me, then you may do so. We can talk through everything and choose our next path in life together. I won’t respond to any further letters unless you are telling me you’re coming home.</p>
<p>More than anything, I wish you find happiness and you find the person you’re meant to be. I hope the same for me too.</p>
<p>Miss Daae.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A couple of years later, Raoul is finally home after his time in the Navy and he soon reunites with his charming Opera singing ex. But all is not as it appears with Christine.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was sweat collecting under his collar and in the hairs of his fine moustache. He thought it might have been the lights or the combined heat of too many bodies sitting in the same place for too long, at least, that’s what Raoul told himself until the hairs on his arms stood on end and a chill ran down his spine.</p>
<p>The actress had certainly bewitched him – she was singing with a haunting lightness, staring into the crowd but barely seeing them through the tears Raoul was sure she was trying to hold back. She sounded so sophisticated and grown-up yet still held her childish hopeful lilt.<br/><br/>“Can it be?” Raoul whispered, grabbing Philippe’s arm. “Oh, it seems so long ago now…Did you know she was here?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” he answered, rapping on Raoul’s knuckles so he would let go. “I was expecting Madame Guidicelli in the lead, but she quit this morning and they found your Miss Daae to replace her. She always seems to be on the periphery of our lives, if not directly in it, doesn’t she?”<br/><br/>“Is this why you brought me with you? So, I could see her again?”<br/><br/>Philippe ignored his question and instead, asked a question of his own. “Did she break your heart?”<br/><br/>Raoul shook his head, still staring at Christine as her aria came to a rapturous close. Her very soul seemed to be bursting from her vocal cords, and then, with a flourish, she stooped to bow. The audience was raptured with her, and rightly so. Raoul stood to cheer and clap, he as breathless as Christine appeared to be as she lifted her head, her eyes drooping with exhaustion.<br/><br/>“Wasn’t she magnificent, Philippe?” Raoul said, clapping long after the audience had stopped, and Christine had let the stage. Philippe smiled to himself and nodded.<br/><br/>“Will you lend me a few francs?” Raoul asked, finally looking at his brother. Philippe’s moustache had become greyer since he’d been away.<br/><br/>“Whatever for?”<br/><br/>“Flowers. I must go and see her,” he answered with a tone as if Philippe should have already known.<br/><br/>“Fine,” he relented, putting his hand into his pocket and pressing a couple of warm coins into Raoul’s palm. “Don’t do anything stupid or impulsive!” He added sternly.<br/><br/>But Raoul was already on his way out.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I probably should have bought a smaller bunch,” he thought as the collection of roses, orchids, and white carnations hit him in the face for the fourth time as he manoeuvred through the tight corridors to Christine’s dressing room.<br/><br/>He hoped he didn’t look nervous as he gently knocked on Christine’s door, waiting for her answer with sweaty hands. He knocked again when she didn’t.<br/><br/>“Just a minute!” she called out. Raoul could hear shuffling and clanking, the scrape of a chair’s legs on the floorboards from the other side. “You may enter.”<br/><br/>Raoul pushed on the door handle and took a careful step over the threshold. It was a small room with a rack of costumes in one corner, and flowers littering every flat surface. He felt his face flush red.<br/><br/>“May I help you, Monsieur?” she asked from her seat at the ornate dressing table. She was pulling pins from her hair, the soft lace of her dressing gown brushing against her elegant wrists. Those curls were just the same – warm, honeyed, and beautifully out of control without those pins.<br/><br/>“You were magnificent this evening, Miss Daae,” Raoul stuttered, his heart beating wildly and his face flushing further under the candlelight. “I’ve brought you some flowers…”<br/><br/>A small smile played at Christine’s lips. “I can see that. You can put them on a table somewhere, I’m sure I can find a vase for them later.”<br/><br/>Raoul swallowed his fear about her nonchalant attitude and found a space for them near her display of costumes, beside a collection of pearl costume jewellery. “It’s so good to see you again.”<br/><br/>“You’ve seen the show before?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair to avoid the frizz that comes with a comb. “How wonderful.”<br/><br/>“No…” he answered, his heart crushing in his chest with each second she didn’t see him as he was. “Do you not recognise me, Christine? I know it’s been some time, but it has not been that long since I…”<br/><br/>Christine veered in her chair to get a better look at his face, pressing a hand to her breast as her mouth fell open, recognition finally sparkling in her eyes. “Raoul…is it really you?”<br/><br/>Relief flooded his veins and he felt like he could breathe again. “Yes, Christine!”<br/><br/>“You’ve come back,” she said, her other hand twitching like she might reach out to touch his cheek. Instead, it stayed on her lap.<br/><br/>Raoul knelt beside her and smiled, taking her hand in his anyway. “I’ve come home.”<br/><br/>“You didn’t send word as I asked.” She said, steel piercing through the softness of her features. Even so, she didn’t move her hand from his.<br/><br/>“I was going to,” he promised, thinking of the letter on his bureau that consisted only of the date and her name. “But Philippe brought me here before I could send it to you – I’ve not been back more than a few days. I had no idea that you performed here! I’m so proud of you.”<br/><br/>Christine nodded and regarded Raoul for a long time, her eyes, ensconced by dark circles, scanned his face. “I think I was right.”<br/><br/>He frowned. “Right about what?”<br/><br/>“You are as handsome with a moustache as you were without one.” She laughed prettily and squeezed his hand. “I didn’t recognise you.”<br/><br/>Raoul lifted her hand to his mouth and gently kissed her knuckles. “You are just the same as you’ve always been, only, more beautiful. I never think you can dazzle me more than you did the last time I saw you, and then I see you again.”<br/><br/>“You’re just as charming as you’ve always been,” she sighed, her mind wandering to their youth as it often did.<br/><br/>“Tell me, Christine, are you happy? Have you found the life you were looking for whilst I was away?”<br/><br/>Christine slipped her hands away from Raoul’s and pressed them to her ruby cheeks, swallowing hard on nothing. “I’m…I’m finding my way,” she told him with a slight shrug. “I have a career forming, I have friends, and I’m taking singing lessons from a new tutor.”<br/><br/>“A new tutor? Is Madame Valerius okay?”<br/><br/>“She’s getting too old, Raoul, and I wasn’t improving. With this new teacher, I improve almost daily and when I sing with him, it’s like my father is right there with me and guiding me.”<br/><br/>“That’s good to hear,” Raoul said kindly.<br/><br/>Christine nodded and forced a smile. “Enough about me,” she announced, smoothing out her dressing gown. “Forgive me for prying but…you and Olivier…”<br/><br/>“We were together for a time,” Raoul told her, closely watching her pale face for any hint of reaction. “I cared about him deeply and for a little while, I think we were happy…but…”<br/><br/>“But?” Christine raised a delicately arched brow.<br/><br/>“But simply, I was still in love with you,” he shrugged. “It wasn’t fair on Olivier or me to pretend otherwise. Good came from it though…” Raoul admitted with a small smile. “I know who I am and what I want. Christine, I’m a man who finds delight with both men and women, but in none more than you! Do you understand?”<br/><br/>Christine paused and cupped Raoul’s cheek, gently running her thumb across his cheekbone. “I can certainly try to.” She looked at the clock on her dressing table and let out a sad sigh. “We have so much to discuss and so little time.”<br/><br/>“Will you dine with me tonight?” Raoul blurted, getting to his feet quickly but tripping on his own trouser hem. “I’m staying not far from here and we can discuss everything.”<br/><br/>“Raoul, I…” her eyes darted to the large gilded mirror at the back of the room. Her face was suddenly devoid of flush and white as a ghost’s.<br/><br/>“Meet me at Le Lumiere at eight o’clock tonight and wear your best dress,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “It’s a celebration of our reunion!”<br/><br/>“Raoul,” she said again, firmer this time. “I can’t. I- “<br/><br/>“Say you’ll come?” He didn’t seem to hear her as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I have to go and see Philippe, but I’ll see you tonight.” Raoul reached for the door and swung it open before leaning his head against the frame, letting his eyes drink in the sight of her. “I have never been so glad to be home, Christine.”<br/><br/>He left without giving her the chance to speak.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Le Lumiere was filled with laughter, the smell of good food, and the gentle tinkling of crystal glasses. It was a dark restaurant made bright with hundreds of flickering candles – some suspended from chandeliers, others mounted to the wall, and more displayed on each table.<br/><br/>Raoul had asked for the quietest and most discreet table so they would be able to talk more freely. He shifted on the velvet seat pad, the starch from his suit making him feel far too stiff. He fiddled with his napkin, raising his eyes to the door every time he heard the ringing of the bell above it followed by heeled footsteps.<br/><br/>He checked his pocket watch to see it was only a quarter past eight. She would certainly come, he told himself, taking a sip of water to moisten his throat. He caught a glimpse of blonde hair from the corner of his eye and stood as she approached. She walked straight past the table, barely even glancing at Raoul, and joined a table with a portly looking man who was already ordering a bottle of wine.<br/><br/>Raoul sat down again, feeling foolish. He grabbed a passing waiter.<br/><br/>“Will you bring me two glasses of champagne, please?”<br/><br/>The waiter glanced at the empty chair in front of him. “Two glasses, Monsieur?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” he bristled. “One for me and one for my guest, who will be here any moment now.”<br/><br/>“Of course, Monsieur,” he said with a bow, hurrying away with surprising grace.<br/><br/>He returned a few moments later, tray in hand, the champagne sparkling and effervescing against the crystal with a charming hiss. The waiter carefully placed a glass in front of Raoul and the second in front of the empty chair, leaving again without saying a word.<br/><br/>Raoul drank deeply from his glass, staring into the candle flame, his mind awash with reasons on why Christine was late. She might be sick, she may have had an accident on the three-minute walk from the Opera house to the restaurant, her music lesson may have overrun. Maybe she couldn’t decide which dress to wear or which shoes looked best. Perhaps she had forgotten and was rushing to leave right now? Perhaps, most heartbreakingly, she didn’t want to come at all.<br/><br/>By nine-thirty, Christine still hadn’t arrived and Raoul’s belly and heart both ached. The restaurant was a little quieter but there was still enough noise to drown out the pitying whispers of waiters. Christine’s glass of champagne still sat, untouched, where his was empty. The condensation on hers had gone, the liquid was warm, and the bubbles no longer seemed to exist. He picked up the glass and gulped the champagne down, his eyes heavy and tired, and slammed the glass next to his. Quickly, he licked his thumb and forefinger and touched the wick of the candle to hear the satisfying sizzle of it being extinguished. The smoke swirled in front of him and he wondered why he even bothered coming home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Devotion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Raoul receives a troubling note after Christine no-show at dinner, and Christine begins to open up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The note crinkled under Raoul’s shaking hands. A delivery boy had handed it to him as he entered the Palais Garnier, a lock of his hair falling across his face from the wind. He ripped the seal of the letter open where he stood, scanning the pitch black, spidery words with anxious eyes.<br/><br/>“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked the boy, scrunching the letter between his fingers, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.<br/><br/>“I don’t know the contents of the letters, Monsieur,” the boy shrugged. “I just bring them.”<br/><br/>Raoul took a deep breath. “Then bring me to the managers. I need to speak to them. Urgently.”<br/><br/>The boy nodded and beckoned Raoul to follow him across the opera house and up two flights of heavily carpeted stairs. The opera house was surprisingly quiet in the daytime and had an eerie aura that didn’t sit well in Raoul’s stomach. He glanced up at the ceiling as they ascended the stairs, a chandelier hung there and sparkled like diamonds even in the daylight.<br/><br/>“Here you are, Monsieur.” The boy bowed and scurried off to do his next chore, a few letters still in his hand.<br/><br/>Raoul didn’t knock. He threw open the door with fiery force, still holding the letter in his fist. “Where is she?”<br/><br/>The managers looked up from their own letters, a newspaper splayed before them on the mahogany desk.<br/><br/>“Viscount de Chagny,” Firmin said with surprise, standing to bow. Andre followed. “It’s wonderful to put a name to the face. Your brother, the Count, speaks of you fondly.”<br/><br/>Raoul steeled himself and ignored them, his chest feeling tighter with every second the threat in the letter sat with him. “Where is she?!” he repeated.<br/><br/>“Madame Guidicelli?” Firmin asked.<br/><br/>“No, Mademoiselle Daae!” Raoul roared, pushing the letter against Firmin’s chest and staring at Andre with a concerned brow. “First she misses supper and then I receive a threatening note! Is this how you treat all your guests?”<br/><br/> “I assure you that we have no idea what you mean,” Andre protested.<br/><br/>Raoul took a step back and smoothed out the note. He cleared his throat theatrically and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “'Monsieur le Vicomte, do not fear for Miss Daae. I have her under my wing, and I kindly ask that you do not attempt to see her again. You would not like to see what might befall you if you do.’ You didn’t write this?”<br/><br/>“Of course not!” Firmin exclaimed.<br/><br/>Fierce footsteps out in the corridor were followed by angry Spanish yelling. Carlotta stormed in with a face so angry and pinched, she looked as though her skin was trying to swallow her features. She held a letter too. “What is the meaning of this?!” she shrilled, setting her enraged sights on Raoul. “The younger Monsieur de Chagny, I assume? Was this down to you?”<br/><br/>“Madame, I’m certain I don’t know what’s going on. Forgive me, but I don’t even know you.”<br/><br/>Carlotta huffed and folded her arms over her ample chest. “How dare you! You are the only one who would rather see Christine in my place and thus you are the only one who could have sent a note such as this! I refuse to believe this is down to the Opera Ghost, no matter what the Girys and the chorus girls believe! It must have been you!”<br/><br/>“Madame!” Raoul snapped. “I have been here all of eighteen hours! Whatever strange notion or conspiracy you have in your head, it has nothing to do with me! Now, please, will someone tell me where on earth is Miss Daae?!”<br/><br/>“We don’t know! We’ve been wondering the same thing,” Firmin told him firmly as Carlotta tried to calm herself in a mirror by the window. “But we will find her. It is not in our best interest to lose a second leading lady in two days. We’ll have to give refunds and we might even lose the patronage of your dear brother.”<br/><br/>Raoul flared his nostrils. “Believe me, Messieurs,” he said, a snarl forming on his lips. “If you do not find Miss Daae, it is not the Count you have to worry about.”<br/><br/>A knock on the door made the managers groan. “We’ll need a bigger office at this rate,” Firmin muttered. “Come in!”<br/><br/>Madame Giry glided into the room, the hem of her dress barely moving as she stepped over the threshold, a young slip of a girl that Raoul recognised from last night’s ballet, following her. “Miss Daae has returned,” Giry announced extravagantly.<br/><br/>“May I see her?” Raoul asked, dropping his note to the floor.<br/><br/>“No. She needs her rest,” she said with an apologetic gaze. “I also have a note from the Opera Ghost,” she added, turning to Carlotta. “He requests that Miss Daae plays the lead tonight whilst you play the silent role.”</p>
<p>“Unbelievable!” Carlotta cried, stepping away from the glass. “You expect me to accept a Ghost has requested this when all this benefits Christine?” She pointed a bony finger at Raoul. “He is the one behind this, you mark my words! Everything was fine until he showed up out of the blue yesterday.”<br/><br/>A strange noise of indignation emerged from Andre’s mouth before Raoul could answer back. “Enough! If Christine has returned, then everyone can leave this office at once! Carlotta will play the lead tonight, and Christine will play the silent role – I don’t care what anyone says or thinks.”<br/><br/>“Everyone back to your posts,” Firmin added. “I’m so sorry for the confusion and the inconvenience, Vicomte.”<br/><br/>Raoul accepted the apology, though he had never felt angrier, more concerned, or more confused. He was one of the first to leave the office, planning to storm back to his hotel room. It was all he could think to do before he heard light feet following behind him and a dainty hand on his arm.<br/><br/>“Monsieur de Chagny?” a voice piped up. He turned on his heel to find the little Giry girl holding him by his jacket. “I need to tell you something about Christine.”<br/><br/>“Then speak!” he pleaded.<br/><br/>“Not here,” she said. “Someone is likely to hear us. In here,” she said, nodding to another room a few doors down. She led him there by the hand, running with barely a sound. When they were both safely inside, she shut the door and checked the windows.<br/><br/>“What’s the meaning of all this?” Raoul demanded. “What is this about a ghost? Where is Christine?”<br/><br/>Meg Giry stood with great poise, her toes pointed out, her head, neck and spine all in perfect alignment. “The Ghost…The Phantom of this opera house, has been plaguing us for the past three years. He leaves notes, he visits the performances, he makes…odd things happen. Some of the chorus girls have seen him with their own eyes.”<br/><br/>“I’m too old for ghost stories, Miss Giry,” Raoul told her with increasing irritability.<br/><br/>Meg carried on without acknowledging him. “I have reason to believe that the Phantom has…done something to Christine. She has been acting increasingly erratic over the past few weeks and it was the same last night before she disappeared.”<br/><br/>“What do you mean?”<br/><br/>“She told me that the Angel of Music had come for her.”<br/><br/>Raoul frowned. “Are you quite sure?”<br/><br/>“Yes, that’s what she said.”<br/><br/>“The Angel of Music is nothing more than a story her father told us as children. She clearly still grieves.”<br/><br/>Meg nodded. “I know she does, she speaks of him as often as she speaks of you. But, Monsieur, she said that the Angel is always watching her…guiding her…she said he was even there with us, with her, in her dressing room!”<br/><br/>Raoul ran his thumb across his bottom lip. “There was no man in her room last night other than myself.”<br/><br/>“She mentioned that you had come to visit,” Meg said, wringing her hands together. “She is not herself, Monsieur. Last night her skin was so cold, she spoke but the words that came out of her didn’t seem to belong to her. She told me that she was frightened.”<br/><br/>“Frightened?” Raoul repeated.<br/><br/>“I am so worried about her!”<br/><br/>“Where is she?” he asked Meg, having heard enough. “Take me to her.”<br/><br/>“She’s with Sorelli in the chorus girls’ room,” she answered, opening the door and flitting down the stairs. Raoul followed clumsily behind her. “We found her wandering around barefoot in the basement in nothing but her dressing gown. She was as cold as ice.”<br/><br/>Raoul thought the flights of stairs and tiny corridors would never end, though each step he took brought him closer to Christine, he had never felt so far away from her. His thoughts were disturbed as he nearly ran into Meg, who had stopped outside a door.<br/><br/>“I’ll leave you to it, Monsieur,” Meg said, knocking on the door. “I have to go before they notice I’m late for rehearsals.” She fled with her feet barely grazing the floorboards.<br/><br/>The door opened, and Raoul burst in, forgetting to greet Sorelli for a moment. Christine looked peaceful, sleeping soundly on a burgundy chaise lounge with a blanket, and a warm compress over her forehead, a steaming jug of water beside her on a table.<br/><br/>“Monsieur de Chagny,” Sorelli said, bobbing a curtsey and returning her attention to Christine. She removed the compress, dipped it into the water, wrung it out, and placed it back over her skin. “Your brother has told me a lot about you. Christine has too, of course.”<br/><br/>“My brother?”<br/><br/>“He comes here a lot,” Sorelli smiled with a single shrug. “He’s a lovely gentleman…” she began, Raoul not noticing the reddening of her face. “Anyway, I take it you didn’t come to see me?” she added in a hushed voice, nodding towards Christine’s sleeping form.<br/><br/>“Is she okay?” He chewed his lip, staring down at her pallid face that was distressingly different to the face he had fallen for in their youth. Where there was once light there was now only torment. She even slept with her hands balled into fists. “She looks…”<br/><br/>Sorelli checked Christine’s temperature and removed the compress, this time, she didn’t replace it, chucking it into the jug and picking it up instead. “She’ll look much better once she’s rested up. We’ve seen this before,” she said unhappily, clutching the jug tighter. “It’s such a shame.”<br/><br/>He wanted to ask her a million questions – questions he had asked Firmin and Andre, asked Meg Giry, questions he hadn’t even thought of until now. Who is the Opera Ghost? Where does Christine go when she disappears? Has anyone tried to stop her? Has anyone tried to stop him, if he exists? How long has this been happening? Why her? Will she ever be okay? Everything made him dizzy.<br/><br/>“Can I sit with her for a while?” he asked, looking at Sorelli with stinging, wide eyes, his hands clasped so resolutely in front of him the skin had turned a curdled milky-white.<br/><br/>“Of course,” Sorelli answered with a kind smile. “I’ll be in rehearsals with the other ballet girls if you need anything.” She walked away quietly, leaving the door slightly ajar.<br/><br/>“Christine…” Raoul murmured, kneeling beside the chaise lounge and stroking her hair gently.<br/><br/>Her exhausted eyes slowly opened, and a smile spread over her face on seeing his face, but it quickly became stormy again. “Raoul…I tried to tell you.”<br/><br/>He frowned. “Tried to tell me what?”<br/><br/>“That I couldn’t come to supper. I tried to tell you that he wouldn’t let me, but you wouldn’t let me speak,” her voice seemed to become stronger as she spoke. “Maybe you’re used to speaking over others and treating people that way in the Navy, but here in civilised society, men occasionally let women speak!”<br/><br/>“I’m sorry,” he said emphatically. “I was so excited to see you…but I know that’s no excuse for why I didn’t stop and listen. I’m listening now - what happened?”<br/><br/>A tear escaped Christine’s left eye. “He heard you in my room and when you left, he came to me and…there’s a door behind the mirror…Oh, Raoul, I was so frightened as he led me through the dark!”<br/><br/>“Shhh…it’s okay,” Raoul said softly, taking her trembling hand. She was still cold despite the blanket. “I won’t let him take you again.”<br/><br/>Christine squeezed his hand as hard as she could with the little energy she had. “I don’t want to go back.”<br/><br/>“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “That is no place for you, little bird.”<br/><br/>“I want to go home,” she told him, more tears splashing on her cheeks.<br/><br/>“I’ll write to Madame Valerius right away,” he promised.<br/><br/>“No!” Christine cried, her tears falling faster. “I want to go home. Like a bird, I want to fly back home.”<br/><br/>Raoul nodded and leaned over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll book you a ticket on the next ship to Gothenburg. You can choose to stay there or find passage to Uppsala.”<br/><br/>“Will you come with me?”<br/><br/> “If you’ll still have me.”<br/><br/>“I do still love you, Raoul,” Christine told him. “As soon as I realised it was you under that moustache…I knew I still loved you. I was a fool to let you go. Will you follow me home?”<br/><br/>Raoul grinned and kissed both of her wet cheeks. “Christine…I’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Free</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christine and Raoul finally manage to get away from Paris. But what kind of life do they have now?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The black soil landed with a heavy thud on the mahogany wood, scattering a fine layer of earthy dust over the gold plaque which quickly melted away under the quiet rain. A crow cawed in a tree nearby, taking to the sky and knocking water from the crisping leaves.</p><p>Raoul shook the excess soil from his leather glove, clutching an umbrella tightly with his other hand. The weight of Christine’s arm looped in his and her head on his shoulder kept him grounded - he moved the umbrella a few inches further over her, giving Christine’s veiled face another shadow.<br/><br/>“I’m sorry, Raoul,” she said, her voice raw and raspy. She felt guilty that she couldn’t cry, but, then again, she had cried so much lately she wondered if it was physically possible for her to weep again.<br/><br/>“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” he told her, his eyes fixed firmly on the coffin as more soil was thrown – the sound of dirt hitting the wood was more rhythmic than the rain. The shining plaque was almost out of sight.</p><p>Count Philippe Georges Marie de Chagny.</p><p>Aged 42 Years</p><p>Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away.</p><p>They had chosen the same epitaph for the headstone too. It had felt insensitive at first, considering how he died. But…in the end, it seemed like the only appropriate thing to write, because it was true. The water might have taken his life, but the water had not killed the love, it had not swept away the care and adoration the brothers had felt for one another.<br/><br/>A midnight-blue carriage came to a gentle stop outside the cemetery gates, the horses just as black as the mood and the soil burying the man who had been more like a father to Raoul than a brother. He nodded at the coachman.<br/><br/>“Are you ready to go?” he asked Christine.<br/><br/>She smiled sadly and lifted her head from his arm. “I’ve never been more ready for anything.” Christine squeezed his hand and stepped closer to the grave. “Goodbye Philippe…the world was better for having you in it. Say hello to Papa for me.”<br/><br/> Raoul couldn’t help but smile at her earnest words. “Why don’t you wait in the carriage? I’ll be there in just a minute.”</p><p>Christine kissed his cheek as he passed her the umbrella. She strode away from the cemetery, taking one last look at the grave, and blowing a kiss to Philippe. Raoul watched her walk, her delicate arm holding up her skirts as she stepped into the carriage. The coachman took the umbrella and shook it dry.<br/>             <br/>“I’m going to miss you, Philippe…Thank you for being a father, brother, and friend,” Raoul said with a gentle sigh, turning his attention back to the dearly departed. “I would not be the man I am today without your influence.” The man filling the grave didn’t seem to notice that Raoul was speaking, or even still standing there.</p><p>“I know that you haven't always liked Christine, but you have no idea how grateful I am that you brought us together again. She’s the light of my life and I have you to thank - you knew my happiness came before your own opinions. I know that seems like the bare minimum of caring for a person…but recently, I’ve seen so little kindness that every piece of basic human decency seems like the biggest declaration of love.”</p><p>Raoul smoothed his moustache and wiped the rain from his forehead. “Anyway…we’re going far away to make new lives for ourselves. We’re going to live, be happy, and leave this awful place behind us…my only regret is that you cannot come with us.” He stood a little straighter, pulling back his shoulders and breathing deeper like he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I’ll think of you every day. Rest easy, Philippe.”<br/><br/>He turned away, his fists clenched by his sides until he reached the carriage. Christine lifted the veil from her face and leaned forward, her warm hand touching his glove as anger pumped through the vein in his forehead.</p><p>“He died so we might live,” she reminded him with a steely determination. “And that’s exactly what we’ll do to honour him. We shall live and we shall live fiercely.”</p><hr/><p>Sunshine streamed through the window and the gap in the curtains, making Raoul slip further under the covers to shield his eyes from the gentle summer. Despite the light covers his body felt flush with warmth. Christine whimpered and sighed in her sleep, shifting subconsciously towards her husband. He caressed the smooth, bare skin of her back and kissed her forehead. Her eyes flickered open.<br/><br/>“Good morning, my love,” she murmured through a smile. Her skin glowed golden under the light of the morning sun. She yawned and pressed her lips to his clavicle.<br/><br/>“Good morning, beautiful,” he answered, curling his fingers through her silky hair. “Did you sleep well?”<br/><br/>She slipped an arm over Raoul’s torso and closed her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve slept this well since I was a child.”<br/><br/>“Are you still tired?”<br/><br/>“A little.”<br/><br/>Raoul kissed her temple and sat up to stretch. “You sleep a little longer,” he told her. “There’s still plenty of time until Meg’s ship comes in.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and picked up his discarded robe from the floor.<br/><br/>She groaned happily, starfishing on the mattress so her hair splayed across the pillow in delicate tendrils. “You’re the best. I love you.”<br/><br/>He smiled fondly. “I love you too.”<br/><br/>Raoul closed the bedroom door with a gentle click and walked around the house with a cheerful whistle, pulling open all the curtains to let the day soak into the walls and floorboards. The house seemed to sing with him, becoming far more alive as Raoul tidied the sitting room and laid a tablecloth over the dining table. He quietly crept back to the bedroom to get dressed – he rolled his sleeves to the elbows and tied his bowtie in the mirror. Christine still slept, her face relaxed and peaceful.<br/><br/>It was only ten in the morning and the boat wouldn’t get in for another two hours. Raoul made a pot of tea in their country kitchen, feeling the warm wood beneath his hands as he tapped on the counter. A pleasant difference to the marble and stone of his old home and the cold metal of the Naval kitchen.<br/><br/>He took his cup of tea and a pair of secateurs to the garden, placing the mug on the beech table by the back door. The grass was beginning to get a little too long and Raoul made a mental note to cut it at some point next week. Gardening had not been his priority for a little while. Still, the roses, the elder-flowered orchids, and the primroses had bloomed beautifully. Raoul looked to the sky and watched the birds swoop and play together above him in the gentle cerulean of the sky.<br/><br/>Raoul took the cutters and knelt by the flower beds, clipping a handful of the flowers and placing them beside him, careful not to let rose thorns or mud ruin his clothes. It suddenly occurred to him that he should have done this before getting dressed. He gathered them up and returned inside with his tea, abandoning the cutters in the flowerbed for the weekend.<br/><br/>Christine was awake now and singing like a bird from the bedroom – the sound made Raoul’s heart flutter. He placed the flowers in a short milk jug, filled it with water and placed it on the dining table.<br/><br/>“Sweetheart?” Christine called. “Can you help me with my dress?” She was standing in the middle of the bedroom when Raoul entered, the bodice of her pale striped dress open and hanging off her shoulders. “I’m so nervous,” she said, pressing her hands to her stomach.<br/><br/>“Why?” he asked, kissing the nape of her neck before his deft hands began to lace the bodice. “It’s Meg – she’s about as nerve-wracking as a daisy.”<br/><br/>Christine laughed, looking at him through their new mirror. “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, shaking her head. “We haven’t seen each other in almost three years…I’ve changed. She’s sure to have changed too. What if we don’t get on anymore?”<br/><br/>“You’re thinking too much again,” he said, pulling the last lace gently. “I’m sure it will feel like you’ve never been apart.”<br/><br/>“You’re probably right,” she said, sitting down at her dressing table to run her hands through her hair. Raoul began making the bed. “I just hope she doesn’t think we live boring lives now.”<br/><br/>Raoul laughed and smoothed out the sheets. “I’ll take boring over whatever life used to be for us any day of the week,” he admitted with a shrug. “We’re happy, we have simple lives, we have good lives, and we still have a life to look forward to. She’ll be thrilled for us, I’m sure.”<br/><br/>Christine grinned from ear to ear, a blush creeping over her face. “You’re right,” she repeated, pinning back her curls. “There’s no reason for this weekend to go badly.”<br/><br/>He stepped behind her and kissed the top of her head, his hands squeezing her shoulders. “You look beautiful, by the way.”<br/><br/>“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him through the mirror. “You look handsome too.” Christine laughed and placed a hand over Raoul’s. “I’m hungry. Can we go early and get breakfast before Meg gets in?”<br/><br/>“Of course we can,” Raoul said. “I’ll get your parasol and we’ll go right away.”</p><hr/><p>Walking arm in arm, Raoul and Christine made their way to a café on the coast. The sea was warm and calm, and there was a light breeze that took the sting out of the mild summer light resting on their delicate skin. They said hello to Mrs Olsen from the cottage two doors down as she emerged from the bakery with bread enough to share, they bid good morning to the vicar, Mr Hagen, as he took his mid-morning walk. They even stopped so Christine could fuss Mr and Mrs Gundersen’s Border Collie, Morten.<br/><br/>They reached their favourite café with languid movements and Raoul pulled a wicker chair for Christine to sit under the awning. She thanked him and let down her parasol, leaning it against the window beside her as she looked out at the ocean.<br/><br/>“The usual?” Raoul asked.<br/><br/>"Please, darling,” she answered with a lazy smile, her face still glowing despite being in the shade. She stretched her legs out in front of her as though she were a child sitting at the de Chagny dinner table, seeing how high her feet were off the ground.<br/><br/>“They’ll bring it out shortly,” Raoul said, coming back with a happy sigh as he sat down beside his wife. He looked to sea too, smiling to himself.<br/><br/>Christine took his hand on the table. “What are you thinking about?”<br/><br/>He exhaled so deeply moustache fluttered. “How different life is. How glad I am Philippe brought me to the opera with him that day. How glad I am that I never went back to sea.”<br/><br/>“I’m glad too,” she said. “But is there a part you that would like to go back?”<br/><br/> “Yes,” he admitted, running his thumb across Christine’s fingers, lingering over his mother’s engagement ring. The one he had given to Christine seven years earlier. “But I like being your husband more than an officer, and I can’t wait for our next great adventure.”<br/><br/>Christine laughed prettily. “You still sound as romantic as you did when you were ten. How is that possible?” She thanked the waiter as he brought a plate of toast with scrambled egg and smoked salmon, a pot of coffee, and a jug of water.<br/><br/>“I’m just lucky,” Raoul answered, smiling. “Would you like coffee or water?”<br/><br/>Christine wrinkled her nose. “Coffee. A small one won’t hurt. Didn’t you get anything to eat?”<br/><br/>“I’m not hungry,” he said, pouring out two cups of coffee, sweetening his with two lumps of sugar. “Besides, I’m holding out for lunch later.” He looked up from the table, something in the distance catching his eye. “Can you see that shape out on the horizon, my love?”<br/><br/>Christine put down her knife and fork and squinted. “Just about.”<br/><br/>“I do believe that’s Meg’s ship,” he said excitedly. “There’s not long now.”<br/><br/>“How wonderful!” Christine grinned. “I take it I still have time to finish my breakfast?”</p><hr/><p>Meg was one of the first passengers to disembark the ship. She practically ran down the gangplank, her hand on the back of her hat, the ribbons whipping at her neck in the wind. Somehow, among the throng of people, she spotted Raoul and Christine almost immediately, going to them with a large smile that looked out of proportion on her lithe body.<br/><br/>“I’m so glad to see you both!” she cried, hugging them tightly, Christine first. “You look so well. Norway has been inexplicably kind to you,” she said, looking between them with dreamy eyes.<br/><br/>“You look well, too, Meg,” Christine laughed, taking her hands and leaving Raoul with the parasol. “Did you have a good trip?”<br/><br/>“Oh, it was utterly marvellous!” Meg said, gesturing wildly with her hands. A ring glinted in the sun, making Christine snatch up her hand immediately.<br/><br/>“What’s this?!” she asked, gaping at the glittering diamond.<br/><br/>“Oh yes,” Meg laughed, letting Christine gawp for a few seconds longer before pulling her hand away, “we have so much to catch up on!”<br/><br/>Raoul and Christine looked at each other with a smile. “I’m sure we do,” Raoul said. “Here, Miss Giry, let me carry your bags.” He took her luggage, tucking the parasol under his arm, and began to lead them back to the cottage, Meg and Christine walking behind him arm in arm.<br/><br/>“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make your wedding,” Meg said sadly.<br/><br/>“It’s okay,” Christine reassured her. “We know it was short notice…”<br/><br/>Meg nodded and squeezed her arm. “Was it spectacular?”<br/><br/>“It was beautiful,” Christine told her.<br/><br/>“It was perfect,” Raoul added, looking behind him with a proud smile.<br/><br/>“Who was there?” Meg asked.<br/><br/>Christine shrugged, still smiling. “It was just us and a kind stranger who agreed to be a witness. It was simple, completely divine, and utterly romantic. The only thing I would have changed is if you could have been there.”<br/><br/>“Oh, darling,” Meg sighed. “If you’re happy, then so am I. Tell me, where did you honeymoon?”<br/><br/>Christine shrugged again. “We didn’t. We decided that we didn’t want to or need to.”<br/><br/>“Maybe we will one day,” Raoul interjected. “I’d like to show her so many beautiful places I saw whilst I was in the Navy.”<br/><br/>“You’re still a seafarer at heart, aren’t you, my love?” Christine said warmly.<br/><br/>“The land, the sea…I love them both,” he said easily. “You know how I like it both ways,” he joked with a toothy grin.<br/><br/>Christine rolled her eyes and laughed regardless. “And how many times are you going to tell that joke?”<br/><br/>“Always at least once more.”</p><hr/><p>Their cottage, a quaint butter-yellow coloured thing with ageing roof tiles, sat proudly in the grass, the well-beaten path guiding them to the white front door. Raoul turned both locks and gestured for the ladies to step inside. The house smelled of sweet wood and cold, strong tea.<br/><br/>Christine showed Meg to the sitting room – a small room that contained a second-hand sofa, a blanket made from thick wool thrown over it, bright white lace curtains, and an impressive bookcase. On the table in front of the sofa sat a spinning globe, certain places marked off with a silver pen. In the corner of the room was a music stand and Christine’s Father’s violin.<br/><br/>“It’s beautiful,” Meg said, looking around with wonder. “It’s not what I had imagined but it’s so cosy.” She sat on the edge of the sofa, sinking into the cushions immediately.<br/><br/>Christine sat with her. “Cosy suits us just fine,” she said, looking around too with a sense of satisfaction. “Anyway, tell me about this ring!”<br/><br/>Meg looked at Christine, her dark cheeks becoming darker with a flush. “He’s a Baron! After…everything that happened…Sorelli quit. She was devastated. I ended up becoming the head ballerina and that’s how I met him – he saw me perform and came to visit me after a show. He’s a wonderful man and he dotes on me something fierce. I feel incredibly lucky to have such a good life.”<br/><br/>“We feel exactly the same,” Raoul said, coming back from putting Meg’s bags in their bedroom. “How is Sorelli? I’m ashamed to say we fell out of touch.”<br/><br/>Meg shrugged. “She’s doing much better. Did you know that she had a baby?”<br/><br/>Raoul raised his eyebrows. “I did not.”<br/><br/>“Rumour has it that the baby is your brother’s,” Meg said gently. “She’s called Marie and she’s two now, almost three.”<br/><br/>“Oh, Raoul!” Christine cried, a hand touching her chest as she let a few tears tip down her chubby cheeks.<br/><br/>Raoul blinked furiously. “Do you have an address for Sorelli? I think I need to send a letter.”<br/><br/>Meg smiled and put a hand up her sleeve, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper. “I thought you might ask that,” she said, handing it to him. He put the paper in his pocket, half smiling.<br/><br/>“Can I get you ladies anything to drink?” Raoul asked, sniffing with his eyes fixed to the floor.<br/><br/>“Tea would be lovely,” Meg said whilst Christine only asked for water. “What made you choose Bergen in the end?”<br/><br/>Christine sat further back on the sofa and chewed on her bottom lip. “Well,…we settled in Uppsala for a time. We thought we’d be okay there but…God, Meg, it was so awful. Everything was still so raw,” she said, staring into the middle distance. “I thought it would bring me closer to my Father and it would make me feel safe, but it didn’t. If anything, feeling so close to him made me feel like I was still living with a ghost. I was so…inward. I isolated myself, I shut Raoul out, every little sound or movement made me jump out of my skin. Raoul was just as bad. Philippe’s death, everything that happened to him in that terrible man’s torture chamber…he couldn’t sleep.”<br/><br/>“It was terrible,” Raoul agreed, returning with a cup of tea and a glass of ice water. He gave them to Meg and Christine and sat on the arm of the sofa. “I started self-medicating with whisky to help me sleep, then to help me get out of the house, then to help me just get through the day. We argued a lot. This wasn’t the life we wanted to live, and it wasn’t the life those we left behind wanted us to live either.”<br/><br/>Christine nodded, wiping tears from her face. “We decided that we had to go somewhere where there could be no ghosts. It was difficult at first, but we made it. We talked and we found ways to help us overcome our fears, we found ways to live again.”<br/><br/>Meg shook her head, wiping her own tears. “You poor things! Are you happy now?”<br/><br/>“Unbelievably so,” Christine said firmly, shifting on the sofa to hug Meg tightly.<br/><br/>“Christine is even singing and playing again,” Raoul said proudly. “And she sounds magnificent.”<br/><br/>Christine rolled her eyes fondly, looking up at Raoul with bright eyes. “And Raoul has been sober for a year and a half,” she said with equal reverence. “I couldn’t be prouder of the life we’ve built from such tragedy.”<br/><br/>Raoul felt his heart swell in his chest. “Me too,” he said. “Meg, would like a tour of the cottage? We’ve decided that you can take the Master bedroom with Christine.”<br/><br/>“Where will you sleep?” Meg asked, getting to her feet.<br/><br/>“On the sofa,” he said easily. “I’ve slept on more uncomfortable things.”<br/><br/>Christine took Meg by the hand, dragging her excitedly to the master bedroom, Raoul hot on their heels with a nervous spring in his step, their previous conversation already forgotten. Meg’s bags were already stacked at the end of the timber double bed, barely making a dent in the sheets. Despite being the middle of summer, the window was closed, and the room was muggy even with Norway’s notoriously mild summers. Meg noticed the extra lock on the window.<br/><br/>“This is utterly charming,” she told them, casting her eye over Christine’s dressing table. There were mostly hairpins, a little face powder, and a half-empty bottle of perfume. It was a far cry from the table and all its lotions and potions she was used to the Palais Garnier.<br/><br/>“We wanted to keep it simple,” Raoul said, looking up at the ceiling. “I only just got away with painting that,” he said, pointing to the light fixture. Despite their simple living, they still had one of those new electric lights installed. Around the fitting, there was a dark blue compass, hints of silver running through it. Meg could imagine its soft shimmer under the light during the long evenings.<br/><br/>“It’s beautiful,” Meg said. “And so avant-garde.”<br/><br/>“I hated the idea at first,” Christine said, waving a hand dismissively. “But I have to admit that it’s grown on me. It’s lucky that Raoul isn’t a terrible painter.”<br/><br/>“You did that yourself?” Meg said gleefully. “What other talents have you been hiding?”<br/><br/>Raoul shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “When we discover any more, we’ll make sure that you’re the first to know.”<br/><br/>Christine laughed. “Ready to see the kitchen and dining room?” she asked, taking Meg’s hand again and nudging Raoul out of the way playfully. “It’s one room for both!”<br/><br/>“How novel!” Meg answered, grinning.<br/><br/>The dining table was small and circular, it would only fit the three of them, a fourth at a push if they all squeezed up and kept their elbows tucked in. There was a small, square stove sitting up against the wall beside a cube sink. Another window and another lock hidden behind lace curtains. The curtains matched the tablecloth exactly.<br/><br/>“These are beautiful. Where did you buy them?” Meg asked Christine, feeling the lace of the cloth between her fingers.<br/><br/>“From a local market,” Christine said. “We bought the tablecloth, but it was much too big for our little table originally. I cut the curtains from the excess material and sewed hems on them all.”<br/><br/>“I didn’t know you could sew,” Meg said ashamedly.<br/><br/>“Madame Valerius taught me whilst I was living with her, God rest her soul. I’ve never really needed to use that skill until now.”<br/><br/>“She’s managed to mend many of our clothes after days of gardening,” Raoul said. “We spend a lot of time out in the garden when the weather permits it.” He looked out of the window, an idea coming to mind. “We can take lunch out there if you like?”<br/><br/>“That sounds perfect,” she assures him. “Are you cooking?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” Raoul smiled. “I’ll start as soon we finish the tour – which should be soon.”<br/><br/>“Only two rooms to go,” Christine announced. “We’ll continue with the boring washroom first,” she said, pulling a face. “It’s just here, opposite the master bedroom.” She went to open the door but slumped against it instead with a tired sigh. “You know what’s in a washroom. You don’t need a tour of this room.”<br/><br/>Meg laughed, baffled. “I suppose not…”<br/><br/>“The last room is my favourite and it’s not even finished yet,” Christine said enthusiastically, reaching for the door handle of the room beside the washroom. “We’ve only just started re-decorating, but I can already tell it’s going to look spectacular.”<br/><br/>“<em>We’ve</em> just started re-decorating?” Raoul scoffed.<br/><br/>Christine stuck her tongue out at him. “<em>Raoul</em> has just started re-decorating,” she clarified, pushing open the door with an air of mixed apprehension and excitement.<br/><br/>Meg entered slowly. The room was a gentle shade of sage green, contrasted with white skirting boards that were accented by a highly polished oak floor. White chiffon curtains made from a dress Christine no longer wanted framed the window. The room was almost devoid of furniture. The only thing that broke up the unfinished décor and the blocks of colour was the small crib at the other end of the room.<br/><br/>Meg turned on her heel to look at Christine and Raoul who were now holding each other around the waists, beaming brightly. “Are you…?” she glanced down at Christine’s belly. “You don’t look…”<br/><br/>“Yes,” Christine laughed, touching her stomach. “About three months.”<br/><br/>“We’re completely overjoyed,” Raoul said, looking at Christine with child-like wonder.<br/><br/>Christine nodded, stroking the bump that was hardly there at all under her skirts. “I was terrified at first,” she admitted, “but once the surprise had subsided, it felt like the right time.”</p><p>Meg had her hands clutched under her chin, crying again. “I’m so thrilled for both of you! I almost can’t believe you’re the same people who left Paris.”<br/><br/>“That’s because we’re not,” Raoul told her, his cheeks aching with elation. “There’s one crucial difference between the couple that left and the one that stands before you now.”<br/><br/>“What’s that?” Meg asked curiously, pulling a handkerchief from the top of her bodice.<br/><br/>Christine let out a short, genuine laugh, looking at her quaint and perfect home, her tiny baby’s crib, her loving husband, and her charming best friend. “We’re free.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic was written as part of Raoulstine Week with each chapter inspired by the following prompts: stars/light, warmth/close, time/future, crossover/AU, kinship/home, devotion, and free day.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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